


Slow Dancers

by Evedawalrus



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Blease John Hasbro, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing, just let my dads be gay and happy, just so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evedawalrus/pseuds/Evedawalrus
Summary: Optimus Prime and Ratchet slow dance late at night.





	Slow Dancers

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to Two Slow Dancers by Mitski while you read if you wanna feel sad and bittersweet. It perfectly describes them though, oh god I’m gonna make myself cry about these sappy grandpas

Optimus and Ratchet slow dance late at night, when everyone else is recharging. They play music, quiet and calm, and hold each other. Neither of them say anything. Neither of them even really know how to dance, but the way they move together feels right enough to them. Optimus has a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder, and Ratchet has one on Optimus’s waist, and they both have their other hands joined. Ratchet would never do this in the day; he gets embarrassed and defensive if Optimus so much as smiles at him in the presence of others. Now, however, he is too tired to protest as Optimus keeps him close, too content to blush as he kisses the top of Ratchet’s head. 

They love their team, they do, but they both know how the presence of the other bots places an unseen weight on them. Optimus must be impartial- distantly warm, but never too emotional, never too open. He has to be the leader, the symbol of strength, the sentinel that defies Megatron and gives them hope. Ratchet must be reserved, but angry, stubborn and strong and dependable. He must always be sure in his skill; he always has to be overprotective, because someone has to be, but never too openly caring, never.. emotionally compromised. 

During the day, they are held to their roles—so Optimus does not come up and embrace Ratchet from behind, lean down onto the sturdy medic and bury his face into the crook of his shoulder and neck. Ratchet does not blush or sputter or press into the touch, abandon his work to turn around and press a kiss to Optimus’s cheek. 

They stay distant, during the day; going about their own work, occasionally sending glances to each other, if they can. Optimus goes out on missions and Ratchet tries to squash the niggling fear at the back of his processor that whispers what if, this time… He fusses over the injuries gained by the team, but always remembers to check over Optimus even if he insists he is fine, because _“don’t you dare try to worm your way out of this, I don’t care if you’re Primus’s chosen one you still need a systems check-“._

After the children are driven home, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and Arcee retire one by one, each bidding Optimus and Ratchet goodnight. The two continue to work until one or the other shakes them from their trance and pulls them away from whatever task they have set themselves on finishing. It can always be done tomorrow.

It is then, and only then, that they relax. 

Time goes by, and Ratchet feels his energy dwindling. Their dancing has become rhythmically slow, their pedes do not move and they sway softly to the quiet music. Ratchet rests his head on Optimus’s chest, leaning his whole weight onto the Prime because he knows he’s strong enough to support him. His audial, pressed against the metal plating just below Optimus’s windshield, can faintly hear the sounds of inner machinery. He can almost hear the hum of his spark. 

He almost does not hear Optimus’s voice. That deep, rumbling baritone asks him—it’s more of a statement, really—if it is time for recharge. Ratchet hums noncommittally, pressing himself flush to Optimus’s frame. His Prime is so warm, he notices. It’s nice. 

Optimus’s chest vibrates as he laughs quietly. Oh, and what a sweet sound that is, Ratchet thinks. Everything about Optimus is too sweet. There’s way he smiles, both the small, private ones he sends Ratchet when no one else is looking, and the bright, wide ones that nearly knock him off his feet with how beautiful they are. There’s the softness of his gaze when he looks at Ratchet with those optics that wash over him like a blanket of blue, make him feel full when his tank is running on fumes. There’s the grace in which he bends down to meet his lips, because with the height difference between them Ratchet has absolutely no way of reaching Optimus’s mouth save for kicking his shins to get him to double over. Then, there’s the perfection of his hands as he cups Ratchet’s face with them and Ratchet puts his own hand over Optimus’s, kissing that beautiful black wrist just to see his Prime’s cheeks blush blue. Every part of him is perfect—and out of every bot in the world, Optimus chose _him._

Ratchet’s spark swells with so much love he can hardly bear it.

 

He brushes his lips against the plating below Optimus’s windshield, making the Prime shiver at the sensation. He sputters momentarily before he gently derides Ratchet, telling him maybe another time, when they are not so tired. Ratchet silently protests his by kissing the bottom of his windshield, at a spot he knows is sensitive. Optimus jolts a bit, making Ratchet chuckle. Optimus sighs, but there is a smile on his faceplates.

Optimus bends down to put one arm under Ratchet’s knees, picking him up in what humans dubbed a “bridal carry.” Ratchet barely reacts to the motion, just offlines his optics and nuzzles into Optimus’s broad chest, immediately content in this a position. Optimus carries him to their room and sets him down on their berth; Ratchet blinks at the loss of his temporary pillow before Optimus lies down next to him. 

Ratchet hums, satisfied as his partner pulls him close. He himself wraps an arm around Optimus’s waist. He tries to give him a kiss—he misses his mark and instead kisses Optimus’s jaw, but he is too sleepy to care. Judging by how Optimus returns the kiss, on the lips this time, Optimus does not care either. 

They fall asleep together; tomorrow brings with it new battles, but tonight there is only the two of them, held in each other’s arms, slow-dancing in an empty room.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this cause I was listening to the Mitski song and feeling sad about gay old men. But it resulted in this piece of schmoopiness, so I guess that’s good! 
> 
> ...I’m gonna go ignore the movie now, haha
> 
> (If you want more gay old grandpa robots, my blog is allrobotsarelesbians)


End file.
